My Life
by Ccatt
Summary: This is based on real life. All the happenings in this story have either actually happened, actually will happened, or have actually been imagined. Yours Truly, Jessica Lynch Please R&R!
1. Prologue

My Life

This is based on real life. All the happenings in this story have either actually happened, actually will happened, or have actually been imagined. I have not written it to make you sit on the edge of your seat with excitement or to cry at something horribly sad. Some parts might seem boring or ordinary, but that is not what this story is about. This story is simply to show reality, and hopefully to show that reality is extraordinary.

Yours Truly,

Jessica Lynch

P.S. It began the weekend I got home from vacation. The weekend before my sophomore year of high school started...

......

Please review!! I promise that this won't be lame and/or boring. Oh, and I'm still working on my other story, if any of you read it, but it's just taking me a little while.

Cat


	2. In the Beginning There Was,,,Pizza?

Disclaimer: I don't own newsies. ::sob:: I don't own Shooter, Stitch, Smartass, or Sodapop.

A/N: I usually do shout-outs at the bottom, but it is late and they were just really casting calls. So, I'm extremely sorry to everyone who didn't get in. Your characters were all great, but I had already had ideas of what I was looking for and chose the closest ones to my ideas. But, everyone, please keep reading and reviewing anyway!!!

All the events in this story have taken place (on some plane of existence). The names of the people in it have been changed for their own protection.

Friday, September 10, 2004

Tonight had to be the worst night of my whole entire life!!!! Some people are just so stupid. And I'm talking about Racetrack and the guy who called him a fag. Maybe I should just start from the beginning...

It was Friday and the first day of Tech Crew. The fall drama/comedy looks really cool. It's about this bunch of murders, and I read the script. It's fucking hilarious. My friend Aurora O'Brien and I were sitting in the auditorium playing dots while listening to all the shit we have to build for it.

Summer had just ended, and we were both burnt and tan as anything. School at Blue Port Catholic High School was going to start on Monday, but I digress. Tech Crew ended, and we walked passed all the actor's reading over the script. God! There was Mush Bell. Even though he is gay, he has to be the hottest man alive (I might be exaggerating a little, but oh well, I do that a lot). So we kind of stood by the door staring at him for a minute. As we left we both swiped a copy of the script to keep. It's better than last year when we dug in the garbage for a copy of Godspell. Shooter's, which she is commonly known as, heck, I didn't even know what her real name was till our parents became friends, hazel eyes glinted mischievously as both of our bodies were racked with laughter at God knows what.

Our high school is right the center of a cute, little, artsy, shopping place/town called Blue Port. There is just one main street that is basically the whole town. This street is lined with brick buildings (and my school) that have odd little hard to find stores in them. There are hardly any chains except for a Starbucks a few blocks over, but no one goes there. No, if you want coffee you go to No Joe's Coffee (less expensive and better tasting). But we were heading to our favorite spot in the whole town, Mr. Pizza Slice. Can you guess what they sell there?

At Mr. Pizza Slice we were planning on meeting our friend Abigail Miller. She usually did Tech with us but this year she decided to be all responsible and get a job. Meh. As we turned down off Main Street to Mr. Pizza Slice a late summer breeze swept Shooter's light brown hair into my face.

"Ahhh! Whiplash..."I said swiping at it, "Oh, you need to get your highlights fixed."

"Yeah," she started pointing to the restaurant's door, "Look! It's Phil!!!"

Phil was the second of two guys that work at Mr. Pizza Slice (shows you how small it was). He was 26 and had been working there since forever. But he had a good sense of humor and always treated me and Shooter friendly-like, no matter how obnoxious we got. He was crouched down on the curb smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone.

"Phil!!!" Shooter started to yell, waving with one hand and dragging me along with the other.

"Dude, he is one the phone."

"Oh, ok let's go inside."

We stepped into the small, small restaurant. We stopped at the ordering counter really quickly, it is immediately to your left when you walk in. We ordered a plate of fries from The Old Guy (his name still escapes us) and went to find a booth in the back. We picked our regular spot right next to the Pac Man that didn't work any more. Then we proceeded to throw all our books and stuff into the booth behind us and take off our shoes.

As we waited for our food I asked Shooter about her summer.

"Well, you know Trey Parker, Kid Blink?" She asked me wiggling her eyebrow suggestively.

"Why?" I was more than slightly suspicious.

"Well, I hooked up with him twice over the summer."

"Wow!" This really was big news. We were just sort of nobodies in our school, and Kid Blink was this really hot baseball star.

Shooter and I then proceeded to have a big discussion on what makes a kiss good. We had just come to the conclusion that tongue is ok, but if there is no lip action at all than that is just stupid, when The Old Guy called us.

"Girls," he said in his old, husky, Italian voice, "Fries are ready!"

"Yes!"

"I'm starving!"

And we ran up in our stocking feet passing Phil on his way in.

"No shoes, no service," he said good-naturedly. We just laughed and kept walking.

The fires at Mr. Pizza Slice are cut and fried by The Old Guy himself. So they, consequently, are round and delicious. Shooter and I poured salt and ketchup all over them and returned to our seats.

When we finished Shooter and I broke out the homework to get ahead so we wouldn't have that much to do during the weekend. I had promised Abigail that we would call her at five and tell her where we were. So at 4:55 I got out Shooter's cell phone.

"Why don't you just ever use your own, and don't tell me you don't have it. I know it is in the front pocket of your backpack," she said without looking up from her Algebra 2.

"Shhhh! I'm on the phone."

She just shook her head and laughed.

"Hello, Dr. Kimball's office. How may I help you?" Abigail's voice came in a monotone.

"Stitch!!!!!! What are you still doing there. Me and Shooter are waiting at Mr. Pizza Slice and we're hungry. Get your butt down here," I yelled into the phone. By this time Shooter was looking up, laughing.

"Ok, I'm leaving now. I'll bring a fruit basket," Stitch, Abigail if some of you didn't catch that before, said seemingly unfazed.

A few minutes later Stitch walked in the door. As she sat down her red braid smacked me in the face.

"Jebus, it's like attack of the killer hair day," I said massaging my cheek.

"Hey, guys," Stitch said in her normal cheery way. I don't think I've seen a day where that girl was really sad or really excited, but hey, that's why we love her right. "I brought fruit."

"Why did you bring a fruit basket?" I said as Shooter started to go through it.

"Oh, look! Melon!"

"Well, it was really just all the extra fruit they had put into a plastic container for me," Stitch took out a piece of pineapple.

"Oh, pineapple," and I took one and started to eat.

We had many the conversation, mostly about Halloween. Tech week, the week we have rehearsals for the play, started on Halloween. But only a certain number of people have to come to tech week, and if me and Shooter didn't get chosen, we all decided to go trick-or-treating at my house. Stitch and I had also gone I like the scariest haunted hayride every last year, so we told Shooter that we had to bring her this year.

Then, at about my 5th piece of pineapple, I noticed that my tongue was starting to burn. Every time I breathed, put anything in my mouth, or just let my tongue touch something it burned like hell.

I could barely talk, "Guys, my 'ongue ib on 'ire," then my cell phone rang.

"See, I knew you had it," shouted Shooter triumphantly.

"Guys, that wab my mom. I gob to go. See you Monbay."

I waved to them and walked out the door. My mom was just coming around the corner in her golden Subaru. My crazy grandmother sat in the front seat with her. My crazy grandma usually picked me up from my bus stop everyday and was over most days except Sundays. Her crazy white dog, White Bob No Pants (otherwise known as Bobby), was in the back seat barking his head off. My best friends Racetrack and Smartass had helped me name him. And, like his name says, he was white and didn't wear pants. I put my bags in the trunk and hopped into the back seat. Bobby proceeded to lick my face and claw my legs to death.

"Hi, Mom! Hi, Grandba!"

"Jessica, why are you talking like that?" My mom asked as my crazy grandma started giving the middle finger to this guy in the car next to us.

"My 'ongue ib on 'ire!" I stated happily.

She just shook her head and drove away. My crazy grandma swiveled in her seat to keep facing the guy she was yelling at. I settled into the seat.

Ok, I think I need to cut my entry in half right here. I need sleep and energy to get through everything that happened that night.

Yours Truly,

Jessica Lynch


End file.
